As an outside observer sitting in Warsaw, there is a peculiarly persistent oddity in the culture wars of Britain. For anyone outside the cycle of outrage that provides the fuel for the culture wars, they are increasingly difficult to follow. The level of apocalyptic seriousness is high – the stakes are always life or death – but the subject matter itself is often remarkably parochial. Britain appears to be having a fierce conversation with itself.
Britain would benefit from turning down the volume and stepping away from the machinery of endless argument
Only weeks ago, a museum in Brighton managed to ignite a small national row by suggesting that Father Christmas should be ‘decolonised’ – that even the ‘naughty list’ might need reconsideration, and that Santa ought to be reimagined in a more culturally plural form. The point is not the merits of the proposal, but the sheer speed with which it became a proxy war.
And this is not a rejection of dissent. Thriving democracies are founded upon it. What still confuses friends of Britain around the world is the odd way in which so many cultural wars seem to be so intensely self-referential: they produce a tremendous amount of heat, but very little light on what really matters to this country.
The borrowing of ideas has always been a hallmark of British culture, and it is a strength, not a weakness. The trouble comes when not only ideas, but also the emotional temperature of debate are imported wholesale – above all from the United States, where culture wars have been shaped by a very different history of race, constitutional conflict, and institutional fragility. Severed from that context and implanted in a society that, despite its weaknesses, retains a high degree of institutional continuity, these disputes lose proportion while keeping their intensity.
Take, for example, the British Museum. The endless disputes about how to describe and contextualise its imperial collections – such as the Parthenon sculptures, the Benin bronzes, and other problematic artefacts – have made headlines, generated reports, and provoked outraged commentary for years on end. The issue of repatriation gained further momentum in 2025, with demands for return and, in some instances, a drift towards long-term loans to countries of origin.
Meanwhile, the symbolic spats tend to divert attention away from the museum’s pressing physical needs, such as the aftermath of the theft scandal in 2023, in which hundreds of artefacts were stolen or removed by an insider, and whose return is still being attempted – not to speak of the museum’s lack of funding, leaky roofs, incomplete collections, and, more generally, the future of national museums in an era of shrinking budgets and declining public support.
This problem is repeated in the higher education sector. Universities in Britain are in a genuine state of structural crisis. By 2025–26, the Office for Students estimated that nearly 45 per cent of English institutions were set to be in deficit, with some facing liquidity problems measured in weeks, rather than years. There have been redundancies, with estimated numbers exceeding 15,000 in recent years, including at respected Russell Group universities, such as Cardiff and Durham. Lecturers are quitting, global competitiveness is being undermined, and the talent pipeline is drying up. But the news cycle is dominated, again and again, by the same flashpoints: disinvited speakers, guidelines for using personal pronouns, ‘decolonising’ university curricula, or a row over a guest lecture. A cancellation becomes a scandal, while a degradation in academic quality occurs with barely a murmur. In Bristol, a visiting academic recently warned she was prepared to take legal action after her lecture on sex and gender was disrupted by protests, alarms, and intimidation – an episode that instantly became a referendum on free speech, safety, and the ability of universities to host contentious arguments without surrendering to the loudest voices.
The UK seems to be fighting battles that have meaning only within the context of the fight itself
Symbolic politics is so prevalent because it is inexpensive and can be accomplished quickly. It is easy to change a mission statement, make a diversity commitment, or rewrite some signs. Culture wars thrive in an environment where gestures are rewarded more reliably than outcomes.
In Britain, symbols are increasingly released from the levers that once controlled them. Debates about statues, flags, language, and the interpretation of museums are conducted in a parallel universe – one consisting of studios, social media, and editorial pages – and have very little to do with actual policy or the allocation of resources. The effect is ritualistic: the same disputes recur with slight variations, involving the same offenders, with each successive ‘scandal’ declared uniquely exceptional, yet carrying all the familiarity of déjà vu. Outrage reaches a crescendo, a statement is issued, a committee is appointed – and then attention shifts to the next transgression.
Even with the new Labour administration, which vowed to transcend culture wars (Culture Secretary Lisa Nandy announced the ‘era’ finished in 2024), the usual hotspots remain: trans rights controversies, curriculum reform emphasising ‘diversities,’ and rural–urban divides over issues such as trail hunting. And yet it speaks as if it may not.
This performative exhaustion weakens participants as well. When all questions become existential, scale disappears. Judgment substitutes for thought, opposition becomes identity, and intentions are attributed rather than interrogated.
From the outside, the response to Britain’s actions evokes more puzzlement than alarm. Britain seems to be fighting battles that have meaning only within the context of the fight itself. One finds oneself analysing footnotes and phrases to understand how something has suddenly become imbued with such national significance. None of this negates the fact that legitimate issues are at stake in many of these disputes and that they deserve serious discussion.
However, debate loses much of its value when it becomes theatre rather than substance. Britain would benefit from turning down the volume and stepping away from the machinery of endless argument. The United Kingdom remains a resilient country – and it is precisely this resilience that makes the culture wars seem so oddly incongruous.
